


Jealousy

by alexdamien



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American Football, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 10,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2375615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexdamien/pseuds/alexdamien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spain goes to a football game with America to make England angry. His plan quickly backfires when Romano's jealousy gets out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Spain's cellphone started ringing an annoying tune with a high pitched voice that yelled _"Bastard Alert! Bastard Alert!"_ and Spain groaned.

He was lying on the sofa, and too hungover to deal with England of all people, so he flipped open his old cellphone and quickly flicked it closed. Hopefully the asshole would get the message and not call until an hour when Spain was ready to deal with the world. Probably when it wasn’t so goddamn bright.

He sighed, and heard the phone go off again, with the same annoying tune. Why did he ever thought setting that as England’s ringtone was a good idea? He groaned and opened it.

“What is it England?” he asked.

“Don’t go out with America!”

That got Spain’s attention. “What?”

“Don’t go to the football game with America. He invited me first and I don’t want you to go.” yelled England.

Spain threw an arm over his eyes to block out the light, so he could focus on remembering what had happened during last night’s party at France’s house. He had a vague memory that England was talking about something that had indeed happened, but everything was a blurry mess of wine and vodka. He remembered doing vodka shots with Prussia and France…no, the blonde next to him was wearing glasses so it couldn’t have been France, right? He thought some more about it, and remembered it was indeed America doing shots with him and Prussia; and saying something about a football game that they’d happily agreed to. After that he remembered being mesmerized by the open buttons on Romano’s shirt and trying to kiss his neck until Romano had slapped him away. And after _that_ it was a mess of crawling on the floor and taking a cab back home. But he had more than enough information to go on.

“Fuck off England.”

“I’m serious Spain! I don’t want you near him!”

“What?! You’re not his mom anymore. Do you seriously think I’m going to ravish your beautiful daughter, you bitch?!”

“Bloody hell Spain! Would you stop hitting on anything that moves?”

Spain gritted his teeth. Oh, it was on now. “You’re not even going. He said you didn’t want to go. Though luck ‘chap’, he went for the better option so fuck off already!”

He hung up before England could shout at him anymore, then dialed Prussia. It rang a few times before Germany answered.

“Yes, Spain?”

“Hi Germany. Can I speak with Prussia?”

“He’s a bit… busy right now,” said Germany with a bit of worry in his tone, and Spain could hear someone puking nearby.

Spain smiled. “Then please tell him to call me as soon as he can, ok? It’s important. Like, really important, alright?”

“Yes. I’ll tell him that.”

“Thanks.”

Spain hung up and took a few deep breaths. He didn’t actually feel like getting up from the couch. Much less going to a football game in America. But England’s comment about him being a slut had really gotten to him, and now he was going to make him pay for it. He had no idea how, but he was sure it wouldn’t take much to rile up England when it came to America. A few photos of them on Prussia’s blog would probably be enough to get him fuming.

Someone knocked on the door, and Spain groaned again, curling up on his side. He wasn’t ready to face anyone while his head felt like exploding. His plan was looking more and more daunting when he considered his state. The knocking on the door got louder, and Spain remembered he had one of his old axes under the sofa. He hoped it wouldn’t get to that. But his patience with the world was running thin.

“Open up already bastard! I know you’re there dammit!” shouted Romano from outside, and Spain was on his feet before he could finish talking.

He held his head and stumbled to the door. Romano stood on the other side, with a plate of something that smelled divine and the cutest pissed off expression on his face.

“Roma~!” he said, and motioned to hug him, but Romano pushed him away.

“Ew, you look like shit, and you stink. What the hell Spain? It’s almost one in the afternoon,” he said, and pushed him aside to get into the house.

Spain scratched his head. It was way later than he expected. Had he already missed the game? No, of course not. Otherwise England wouldn’t have called him, right?

“Sorry Romano. I’ll take a shower real fast. Just give me a moment,” he said, texting America as fast as his pained head could let him _._

_-Hi! When and where is the game? You still up for it?-_

He looked up to see Romano glaring at him in disgust. He clearly needed a shower as soon as possible. He smiled brightly at him and rushed to the bathroom.

Romano looked at him go and huffed. The bastard was even dumber when he was hungover, but he hadn’t expected him to still be like this so late. He really had over done it with the drinks last night though. It had all been America’s fault. After England had called him a kid he’d told him he could out drink him and had used Spain and Prussia to prove his point. It had been useless though, he’d collapsed first and it had taken the combined strength of both Germany and Russia to move him up to one of the bedrooms after that.

Spain and Prussia had then tried to out drink each other, and when Romano had tried to stop them Spain had started kissing his neck and pawing clumsily at him. He could still hear everyone laughing and howling at them and felt his face heating at the memory.

He left the plate next to the stove and angrily opened the refrigerator. It was empty and that only made Romano angrier. Spain could be so useless sometimes. Surely if he hadn’t stopped Spain and sent him home in a cab he would have ended up kissing Prussia. Romano had never actually seen them do that, but in his rage fuelled mind he thought of a thousand possibilities that included even England making out with Spain. He gritted his teeth and started making coffee.

He calmed down a little, but still wanted to be angry at the bastard. It always made Romano angry when Spain got wasted with other people. The very thought of anyone taking advantage of Spain set his blood boiling, but hell if he was going to say anything about it. He limited himself to glaring at the coffee machine and muttering curses under his breath.

From the hall he heard Spain walking around and he started heating the pasta he’d brought. Spain walked around the living room saying something. When was the idiot coming to the goddamn kitchen? Romano wasn’t going to wait all the damned day for him.

“No, it’s not too late yet. We can still make it,” he was saying.

Romano saw he was talking on his phone with a towel on his head. He wore some very nice tight jeans that showed off his long legs and a plain white shirt with the first few buttons opened, showing off the silver cross he wore over his tanned chest. Romano swallowed and looked back to the stove.

“Come on, he’s paying! Yeah, there’ll be beer too,” said Spain, checking his wallet and buttoning his cuffs. He looked even better than he had last night. “No, I don’t know what kind of beer Prussia. Probably cheap American beer, but that’s not the point…Yeah, bring your camera…Then bring Germany’s camera! God, Prussia, I’m too hungover for this!... Alright, I’ll see you there.”

Spain huffed and went back to the bedroom. Romano sat at the kitchen table glaring at the plates of pasta he’d served. Damned Spain wasn’t even paying him any attention, even though Romano had cooked him lunch and brought it to his. Damned. House. Romano fought back tears of frustration. Spain was making plans with Prussia and America while he was sitting there alone like an idiot. It only took like an hour of drinking for America to steal him away like nothing.

Something cold and heavy settled in Romano’s chest.


	2. Chapter 2

Spain jogged back to the kitchen. England had sent him a few messages calling him a bunch of rude things. He could barely wait to make him even angrier.

But, now there were far more important things to pay attention to. Namely, his most important thing. He sat down in front of Romano. His day had taken a turn for the better (no, for the _best_ he could have expected.) with Romano showing up and bringing delicious food for him. He would have scooped him up in his arms and kissed him if he wasn’t sure Romano would beat him bloody for that. He licked his lips.

“Ah, this is a great day! Thank you so much Romano~!” he chanted.

“Hmp,” grunted Romano, glaring down at his own plate. He looked terribly cute when he was angry. He always looked terribly cute. “What are you staring at, you bastard?” he asked, clutching the fork in his hand.

“You. I’m so happy you’re here,” he said, and smiled at Romano, who blushed a little and looked away while the anger in his eyes softened. Spain took a bite of the food and felt like there was no way he could be happier than at that very moment.

“Hmm, really? Because you seemed pretty busy,” said Romano, pushing his pasta around the plate.

“Ah, not really,” said Spain and shrugged. “America invited Prussia and me to some football game yesterday at the party. You want to come?”

“Of course not, you idiot. I don’t even understand American football.”

Spain froze with the fork halfway to his mouth. “American football?” he asked.

Romano lifted an eyebrow at him. “Of course. They call football ‘soccer’ over there, don’t they?”

Spain hadn’t actually thought of this plan too deeply.

“Do you really think he meant American football?”

Romano lowered his fork. “Spain, you’re _going out_ with America. To America. To watch a football game. I’m pretty sure he meant American Football,” he said, making emphasis on going out.

Spain resumed his eating with a thoughtful look, and Romano waited to see if he had taken the hint that he was going on a date. With Prussia and America. Like a date threesome. How much of a slut could Spain be, really? His paranoia fueled him images of the three together. And while a small part of Romano’s mind made a double take and said _‘what the hell are we thinking of?’_ Another, much stronger part of his mind said _‘They’ll take him away from you.’_

“Well, this will be a learning experience,” said Spain then, with a goofy smile in his face.

Romano wanted to stab him with his fork.

And then tie him to the bed.

His bed.

With him and not America or Prussia.

Only Him.

“You’re so cute when you blush, Roma. What are you thinking of?” asked Spain, and Romano realized his mind had gone to a less angry and more…compromising place.

“N-nothing idiot! Nothing! Shut up already and eat or you’ll be late!”

Spain laughed.

After they ate and had some coffee, Romano sat at the living room pretending to read the newspaper while Spain finished getting ready. Romano’s cellphone vibrated. It was a message from Feliciano.

_-How long are you staying with Spain?-_

Romano gritted his teeth.

_-I’m not staying! I’m going back home soon so don’t invite the potato bastard. I don’t want to catch you two making out in the kitchen AGAIN dammit!-_

He felt a little satisfaction when he sent the message. Hopefully Feliciano would be really embarrassed now.

_Aw, did you two have a fight? Don’t be too hard on him!_

Romano growled. Feliciano was always pushing him about Spain and he was sick of it. He just couldn’t be as open about his relationship as Feliciano was about him and Germany.

Spain came into the living room. He had put on a thin black leather jacket and had a pair of nice sunglasses on the top of his head. Romano’s gaze traveled from them down to his still open white shirt. Spain very rarely looked this sharp and stylish, not even at important parties.

“How’s this?” he asked Romano, who cleared his throat and sat back on the couch.

“Why are you dressing up? It’s just a stupid football game. You’re overdressed, idiot.”

Spain laughed, but it wasn’t his usual easy laugh for whenever Romano called him an idiot. It was something darker and sharper that Romano hadn’t heard since he was a kid. Spain leaned over the couch to kiss the top of Romano’s head and ruffle his hair.

“I won’t be gone long. Stay, and I’ll bring you breakfast to bed tomorrow. Then we can go to the movies, or out to dinner. How’s that?”

Spain’s warm hand lingered on his head, and then lowered to caress the side of his face in a way that made Romano’s heart beat faster.

“I… I don’t know. I have stuff to do too,” said Romano, looking away.

Spain grinned. “Well, I hope you can stay. I’ve missed you, and we could barely talk yesterday.”

“That’s because you were too busy drinking with Prussia and America to pay any attention to me. Like now,” said Romano, and instantly regretted it. Spain pushed his face up to look at him.

“You want me to stay Romano? I’ll stay with you,” he said, taking off his glasses.

Romano hated himself for sounding needy and pathetic.

“Of course not! I was just saying you’re a drunk, you bastard! I just don’t want you to call me drunk off your ass from the middle of the stadium, that’s all. Don’t get any ideas!”

Spain laughed. “Ah, alright Roma. I’ll try to not drink too much so you don’t worry”

“I won’t worry!”

With a grin, Spain put on his glasses, gave Romano a key to the house and went out.

Romano sat on the couch, listening to the silence and the emptiness of the house. He thought of Spain having a great time with America and Prussia. It was no surprise that Spain wanted to go out with someone more interesting than him. America surely knew how to have a good time right? And Prussia had been Spain’s drinking buddy since way before Romano had been born, so there was that.

And they really couldn’t do anything bad during a football game, right? It was just a game with friends, and a bunch of crazy Americans. Crazy drunk Americans.

And Spain looking like the very image of temptation.

He choked on his own horrified scream, and scrambled for his phone.

_-I won’t be coming back but don’t invite the potato bastard. I’ll be in America. Don’t do anything stupid. I’m bringing the guys.-_

He sent it, and quickly started another message. To a private number known only to him and a few snooty FBI agents who would promptly be dealt with.


	3. Chapter 3

Germany tried calling Italy a few times, but the line was always occupied to the point that he started worrying.

“I’m leaving!” called his brother from the living room. Germany frowned and walked out of the kitchen.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked. His brother seemed paler than usual. “I don’t think you should go out right now.”

“Ugh, I don’t really want to. But I agreed to go to some football game with America and Spain yesterday, and now Spain will skin me if I don’t go,” he said, zipping up his jacket.

Despite his sickly appearance he seemed to have made an effort in dressing up. Germany didn’t know if he should be more confused than worried.

“The bastard just texted me that it’s apparently American football. Is it the one that looks like rugby?” asked Prussia

“I’m… not sure…,” said Germany.

His brother sighed and opened the door. The second he saw the light of day he recoiled and hissed.

“God fucking dammit! Why is it so bright?!”

Germany closed the door and pulled his brother back inside. “Wait here. I’ll bring you some sunglasses. Are you really alright? Maybe you should call them and tell them you don’t feel well enough.”

Prussia sat on the arm of one of the sofas and shook his head. “Nah, gotta go. Oh, and let me borrow your camera.”

“Umm, sure. But why?”

“No idea, Spain said to bring one.”

Germany and settled for a deeply confused worry. His default emotion when it came to his brother, in fact. He went upstairs while calling Italy on his cell phone. It rang once…twice…

Austria came out of the upstairs study. “What is all that scandal going on?”

“Nothing. Prussia doesn’t feel very well,” said Germany. Italy’s voice asked him to leave a message. Now Italy wasn’t answering his calls? Worries everywhere.

“Hungover again? No wonder after how he ended yesterday.”

Germany grunted in vague agreement. He got a couple aspirins from the cabinet and the sunglasses and camera from his room. It struck him as strange, since all of Prussia’s blog pictures were usually taken with his phone. Moreover, why would Spain want him to bring it? Didn’t Italy say that Romano was staying with Spain?

“He should already know better than to be so excessive with his drinking,” kept talking Austria.

Germany grunted in agreement again. He texted Italy - _Please call me-_ , and went back downstairs where he found Prussia fixing his hair in the bathroom.

“Here,” he said, handing him the sunglasses and camera. Prussia nodded. “Please take these too. I’ll get you some water,” he said, giving him the aspirins.

“No, I’m fine. I’ll get some water on my way there,” said Prussia, and dry swallowed the tablets. “Thanks, and have fun with Italy.”

“Are you coming back on your own or will you need someone to drag you back again?” asked Austria from the stairs.

Prussia flipped him off and left.

“He already apologized for your piano,” said Germany.

“Drunk apologies don’t count,” said Austria, and went back to the study.

Germany sighed. His phone rang, and he saw it was Italy. A heavy weight lifted from his chest. “Italy?” he asked.

“Sorry Germany! I left my phone, uh, downstairs,” said Italy. It sounded like he was out in the street. “Ve, I’m really sorry but you can’t come visit today. I have to go check on Romano.”

“Did something happen to him?!”

“N-no! I…think not. But he said he was going to America and that he was bringing the guys, and I’m a bit worried because we sort of don’t do that anymore. In America I mean.”

“The guys? You mean your mafia?” asked Germany

“Ve…well, uhmm, yes. _His_ mafia. But I’m only going to check up on him, to make sure he’s alright. We can hang out tomorrow if you’re free!” said Italy without his usual energy.

“No, wait. I’ll go with you.”

“Ah, I’m…I think it will be fine.”

Italy didn’t like it when Germany found out about their mafia things, but Germany decided to push on just this time.

“I want to go too. My brother just left. He said that he and Spain were going to a football game in America. Do you think that might be connected?”

Italy fell silent for a moment. “…Maybe. I think Romano and Spain had a fight…I thought it was nothing, but...Ve, Germany! Now I’m really worried! This is all really weird! First he says he’s staying, then he says he’s not, and now he’s taking the mafia to America! This is really weird. Germany, come help me!”

Germany scoffed out a laugh.

“Yes, yes...but wait...where exactly are they going? Did Romano tell you anything else about it? How are we going to find them? There must be many football games going on in America.”

“Ve...Romano didn’t say anything else. Maybe we could try looking at American sports channels?”

Germany grabbed his jacket from the closet and fixed his hair. “I think he mentioned something about New York yesterday when Russia and I were carrying him to bed,” he said, not pointing out just how heavy he’d been. “We could start looking there.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I’ll see you there. Let’s meet at the Metropolitan museum!”

“We should probably meet at a football stadium, Italy. Time is of the essence right now.”

“Awww…”

“I’ll take you there tomorrow.”

“Yay!”

Germany smiled and hung up. “Austria! I’m going to Americ-“

Austria was behind him. Near the entrance. Wearing his coat. When had he come down from the studio?

“I’m going too,” he said.

“W-what?” asked Germany.

Austria turned his back on him and opened the door. “Don’t worry, I won’t get in the way of you and Italy.”

“That’s not-“

“There is a football game starting in an hour at the Met Life stadium in New York. Tell Italy we will start there.”

Germany opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t find anything to say, so he just closed it again and followed Austria. This problem between him and his brother was getting out of hand. He decided to just keep silent and carry on. He could deal with this. Somehow. He was German made.


	4. Chapter 4

Spain saw Prussia stumble out of the subway station, camera in hand, and grinned. He had just arrived himself. Through a door, of course. Prussia preferred moving through some form of transportation, usually trains, or buses. To each his own, thought Spain, and waved at his friend.

“You look like shit,” said Prussia, smirking.

Spain laughed. “I know!” he said, and didn’t mention that Prussia looked even worse than him.

“Are you going to explain what the hell’s going on now or what?” he asked.

Spain nodded, and motioned for them to start walking towards the stadium. “Eyebrows called me earlier, telling me to not come to the game with America because he had invited him first, and then he starts calling me a slut and stuff.”

“That bastard,” said Prussia.

“I know! So now we _have_ to piss him off, right?”

“Sure!”

“Well, I was thinking about you taking a few photos of us having a good time at the game. I’ll even hug him! I want you to take a photo of that! And put it in your blog. I want to make sure that bastard sees it!”

“Oh, wow, you’re evil,” said Prussia sarcastically, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses.

Spain saw it, though. “I’m not doing anything worse than that!”

They stopped to buy a bottle of water from a newspaper vendor. Spain paid in euros, and gave him a couple extra when the old man tried to protest.

“That’s more than the price,” said Spain, in a thick accent. “Más. Es más del precio _(More._ _That is more than the price.)_ ”

“Wir habe kein dollars _(We don’t have any dollars)_ ,” helped Prussia, hoping that his German would coerce the man into giving up.

It worked and the man shrugged.

“I didn’t mean that!” said Prussia after they left.

“But we really don’t have any dollars,” said Spain.

“I meant about America!” yelled Prussia.

“Ah, yeah?”

“I mean, there must be something more that we can do to piss off England,” said Prussia, tapping his lower lip in thought.

“Like what?” asked Spain, and took a sip from his water.

“Well, there’s supposed to be a kiss camera, that they set on viewers and then they kiss in front of everyone and-“

“No.”

“On the cheek! England will bitch about it for years!”

“…Maybe. Are you sure of this kiss camera thing? It sounds weird,” said Spain. Most American traditions seemed weird to him.

“I saw it once in an American movie! Well, it was in a baseball game, but I bet it’s the same thing with football.”

Spain nodded. The idea that England would see them and be completely furious made him smirk.

“And why did I have to wear something nice too?” asked Prussia, motioning to his nice jeans and jacket.

“You’re plan B,” said Spain. “If I can’t manage to get close, you will.”

“What?! I couldn’t even get my arms around him enough to hug him! That kid’s huge! Bigger than my bro!” said Prussia, who as a general rule, refused to accept that anyone could be better than Germany at anything.

“Would you at least try to work with me here? We have to be prepared, that’s all,” said Spain.

“You just didn’t think this through. Do you actually have any idea of how we’re gonna do this stuff? Just get close and get photos?”

“Yeah.”

Prussia facepalmed. “We didn’t have to sit through an entire football game while hungover for that!”

Spain stopped and turned around, holding Prussia by the shoulders. “Look, I don’t like this any better than you. But we have to do this! I’m not letting eyebrows get away with this shit, you hear me? I want him to regret ever calling me,” he got closer to Prussia, to the point where the Prussian could have counted every single of his eye lashes. “I want him to squirm, and rage, and hate me with every fiber of his being.”

They stood there for a moment, with Spain fuming and grabbing Prussia’s shoulders to the point where it was almost painful.

“That…,” finally said Prussia. “Is the most badass intention for a hugging photo I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m glad you understand my point now,” said Spain with a smile, letting go of him.

“I’ll get to taking as many photos as I can.”

“Good.”

By the time they reached the stadium, they had finished the water bottle, and America was waiting for them near the entrance. Instead of his usual jacket he wore some blue jersey from a team neither Spain nor Prussia could recognize. He waved at them with a smile even brighter than Spain’s

“That kid’s got too much energy, considering how we left him yesterday,” whispered Prussia.

“Ah, youth. I remember being like two hundred years old and raiding villages,” muttered Spain, forcing his smile to be brighter and much happier than he felt.

America ran up to them, unable to contain his excitement. “I can’t believe you guys really came! I’m so happy!” he said, holding both their hands. “No one ever wants to come to a game with me! Especially that boring dumbass England!”

His hold on the others’ hands grew a little too tight, and they exchanged a worried look that America failed to notice.

“Ah, yeah, let’s have a good time!” said Spain, trying to wiggle his hand away from America’s. He had heard about his abnormal strength, but this was the first time experiencing it literally in the flesh.

He wasn’t liking it. He wasn’t liking it at all.

America let go of them, and laughed. “Hell yeah! Let’s go! I got great seats!” he started walking, and the others followed a couple steps behind. Prussia elbowed Spain, and showed him his bright red hand where he already had marks. Spain gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but which came out more like a desperate grimace.

“We should get some hot dogs, and hamburgers, man I’m starving! What about you guys?”

Spain passed a hand through his hair. A few passing women and a couple men stopped to stare, but he ignored them.

“I’m a bit full. I ate something at my house,” he said. Truly he didn’t think his stomach could take anything as heavy as that. “Maybe just a beer.”

“Yeah, beer, sounds good,” said Prussia with very little excitement at the prospect of a weak American lager. Spain gave him a fleeting glare that was quickly replaced by a bright smile when he stepped closer to the blonde. “But before, we should take some photos! For my blog! First American football game, gotta get a lot of photos! Come on, step closer to Spain!”

America looked at him in shock. “What?...This is the first time you’ve gone to a football game?”

“Uhm, well, American football is different from our football, as you know,” said Spain

“B-but…”

Spain laughed and patted America’s back. It felt like patting a brick wall. Prussia snapped a quick photo.

“We don’t actually know how your version of football works. You’ll have to explain it to us. We’d love to learn all about it.”

America’s shock vanished from his face, replaced by his usual happiness. “Sure! I’ll explain everything to you guys! Come on, we have to get our snacks fast so I can start telling you how football works!” he said, and started walking towards the food stands.

Around Prussia and Spain, people muttered worriedly about the two foreigners who didn’t know how football worked.

“Better open another button on that shirt to distract them, or they might tear us apart. Soon,” said Prussia.

Spain looked around, and complied.

As they moved towards the snack stands, they never noticed the slim figure glaring at them from the shadows. Romano gritted his teeth.

“What the hell is that idiot thinking? What is going on?” he muttered. Around him followed three tall men in black suits, keeping watch around him, with orders to deal with anyone who dared to try anything with Spain. “And he just listens to whatever Prussia says like nothing!”

“I’d guess stupidity, like misery, loves company,” said a voice behind Romano.

His bodyguards spun around, aiming their weapons at the blond British gentleman that had appeared between them out of thin air. England grinned, and with a wave of his wand turned all their guns into toads.

“What a surprise to find you here,” said England

Romano noticed the way he swayed just a bit. Considering England’s habits, it was a considerable possibility that he had been drinking steadily up until now.

“W-what do you want eyebrows?” asked Romano, considering the distance between them. The toads on the hands of his confused bodyguards started moving. One of them croaked and a bullet came out of its mouth, hitting the concrete next to England’s shoes and making him scream. Another one of his bodyguards dropped his toad and tackled England, throwing him down to the ground just before being turned into a rabbit along with the other two. England fell on his back, and dropped the wand.

Romano sprinted forward to grab it. “Don’t move!” he yelled, pointing at England with the wand.

England gritted his teeth. “Give that back, you’ll hurt yourself,” he said, trying to get up.

Romano waved the want and turned his gray sweater vest to an ugly bright pink.

“I said don’t move dammit!”

England lifted his hands. “Alright, alright. But I’m serious, that wand is dangerous.”

“Whatever. Now, tell me why you’re here.”


	5. Chapter 5

Italy ran straight to one of the food stalls, and Germany sighed deeply. The whole plan was falling apart. They had gotten lost twice on their way there, and Italy kept whining that he was hungry and thirsty while Austria was absolutely no help at all.

“Let’s try to stay together,” he said, turning to Austria and finding only empty space. “A-Austria?”

Italy jogged back to Germany with a huge pretzel in his hands. “Look Germany! Here, have a bite.”

“Italy where’s Austria? He was here just a moment ago,” said Germany.

Italy shoved the pretzel in Germany’s mouth. “He must have gone to take a look around, he’ll be fine. Look, the game is about to start.”

“Italy we didn’t come here to watch the game. We should be trying to find Romano and the others.”

“Oh, he’s here. I saw two of his cars at the parking lot. Don’t worry, we’ll find them soon,” said Italy with a smile, pulling Germany towards the seats. “I just need a moment and I’ll feel his presence soon. He can’t be too far.”

Germany frowned, but let himself be pulled towards the stadium. With any luck, he wouldn’t have to spend too much time later trying to find Austria. And if he found Prussia and he hadn’t caused any trouble –unlikely, but he kept his hopes high- then he could search for Austria himself.


	6. Chapter 6

The sun was too bright for Spain’s eyes, even with the shades. He was starting to regret every single choice he had made that day, especially after getting his ass pinched twice on their way to their seats. He looked over at Prussia, who had happily taken to the technology of the beer helmet, and alternated between sipping on it and eating chips.

Spain was too full after his meal with Romano to try any of the food that America had demanded they try, and had only managed to eat a single double cheese hamburger, while America was on his fifth and Prussia was catching up to him fast.

“Look at that!” said America, pointing to the five huge screens above the playing fields. “You get to see great closeups even from up here. I love technology!”

Prussia laughed, and kept sipping beer while Spain tried to be interested in all the complicated specifications of the screens even though the closest to technology he usually got was asking Romano to help him choose a new cell phone every five years or so.

Prussia looked over at Spain and remembered their purpose. He lifted the camera he carried around his neck.

“Hey, let’s take another photo for the blog!” he yelled.

America smiled and pulled Spain in for a bone crushing hug. “Hell yeah! You’re gonna have to make an entire gallery for all our photos!”

Spain smiled despite the fear that America might crush his shoulders.

A gorgeous brunette on the row above them pointed her cellphone at them. “Are you models?” she asked, taking photos of them. Around them, more people started muttering that they were famous models.

“No, no, we’re not models,” said Spain with a sheepish smile.

America put an arm around both Prussia and Spain. “We’re heroes!” he said with his best smile.

More people started taking photos of them, and Spain thought that he would have a lot to explain to his boss if those photos went viral.

Suddenly, one of the screens above the playing field shortcircuited and blew up, sending a rain of sparks down while the players ran for cover.

The people on the seats around them panicked and tried to run away. A huge bearded man sat up too fast and spilled his beer on Spain, who jumped up.

“Dammit!” he yelled, shaking off the liquid. “Roma gave me this one!”

America took off his jersey. “Damn, sorry Spain. Here, clean it with this.”

“What? No, no. Thank you, but it will only ruin your clothes too. I’ll go clean up,” said Spain with a smile and went off to the bathrooms.


	7. Chapter 7

From the opposite side of the stadium, Romano lowered his binoculars.

“Don’t you think that was excessive?” said England next to him. He swirled his glass of whisky and soda. On the empty seats around them, three white bunnies jumped around. No one paid them any attention, Romano had made sure of that with a wave of the wand.

Romano growled.

“Shut up!” he yelled at England.

“I’m serious Romano, I understand you’re upset, but the wand can be a bit overpowering,” kept saying England.

Romano grabbed his glass and dumped the entire contents over his head.

“And I’m serious too when I tell you that if you don’t shut up, I’ll turn you into something that won’t talk!” he yelled, and stormed off.


	8. Chapter 8

After patting his jacket dry and checking to see that there was no damage, Spain rinsed his hair on the washbasin. When he was trying to get it dry, bent under the hand drier, England sauntered into the bathroom.

“Here you are,” he said.

Spain growled and stood up to his full height.

“England. Weren’t you supposed to be very far from here? I don’t think America will like it if he sees you,” he said with a dark smirk, stepping closer to him.

England took a step back. “Like hell. You are the one who has to fucking get out of here. Leave America and go back to your fucking tomatoes or whatever the hell you do!”

Spain grabbed him by his ugly gray sweater vest and shoved him against a wall, making him hit his head on the tiles. “So it was you the one who blew up that screen! You ruined my clothes and my hair!” he pushed him against the washbasin and drenched him.

England tried to pull away but could do nothing against Spain’s iron grip.

“Getting weaker eyebrows? You used to put up more of a fight!” laughed Spain, releasing him.

England stumbled backwards, tripped on his own feet and fell against a toilet.

Spain laughed at him. “That’s for calling me a slut!” he yelled at him and walked out of the bathroom.

After a few moments another England, this one wearing a bright pink sweater vest, walked into the bathroom.

“Sounded like that didn’t go too well,” he said, and tried to pull Romano up from the floor.

Big tears fell from Romano’s eyes as the magical disguise faded off. “He was so strong. He had never used so much force with me. I…I was afraid,” sobbed Romano.

England helped him get on his feet. “You haven’t seen us fight for real. Back in the day he once tied me up with chains to a rock and threw me out to the sea. Took me a bloody long time to get myself out of that one, and a few mermaids had to help me to shore.”

Romano slapped his hands away. “I don’t fucking care! He’s fighting with you for America! I can’t believe this! I hate you! I hate America! I hate everyone!” yelled Romano.

Above them, all the lightbulbs exploded.

“Romano calm down!” said England, trying to grab him, but Romano had already vanished. “This kid is so hard to handle,” he mumbled, walking out of the bathroom.


	9. Chapter 9

Prussia walked towards the food stands. He wanted more beer, and more chips, and a few of those huge pretzels he had seen. He had no idea who was winning, why they were winning, or who they were supposed to be cheering for; but the food was good, the beer plentiful, and he was going to make the best of his day.

“I should have known your predilection for ridiculous helmets wouldn’t go away so easily,” said a smug voice behind him.

Prussia turned around to find Austria staring in disgust at his beer helmet.

“What are you doing here specs? There are no pianos here,” grumbled Prussia and kept walking.

Austria followed. “I came here because I was worried about you after what happened yesterday. We never did get to talk about-“

“I said I was sorry about your stupid piano! I didn’t mean to break it, I just wanted to kick it a little because it was so stupid,” said Prussia, mumbling the last part. Austria’s piano was stupid. Why was he playing it for Hungary anyway? And barely a day after sleeping with Prussia.

“This isn’t about the piano!” cried Austria. “This is about how you seem to sink into these depressive moods whenever me and Hungary-!”

“I’m not depressed!” yelled Prussia. “I’m perfect! I’m so fine, you have no idea. Look, I’m happy and laughing and everything’s fine. So get your musical ass back home to Hungary and leave me alone!”

Austria grabbed at his sleeve but Prussia shoved him away.

“Hungary and I are very concerned about you,” said Austria. “I know we never did talk about this. Now I see we should have, but the circumstances-“

“The circumstances are history,” snapped Prussia. “I don’t care about your marriages. You were married to half of Europe. I’d go insane if I pitched a fit every time you married someone new!”

Austria glared at him. “Prussia I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time, despite whoever I married. There, I said it. Is that what you wanted to hear? Was it not enough the nights we spent together? Or the fact that Hungary and I slept in different rooms all the days of our marriage?”

Prussia tried say something, but his throat closed, and he noticed tears filling his eyes.

“It’s too late,” said Prussia, and ran off.


	10. Chapter 10

America smelled England before he saw him among the people around the food stalls. He smelled like a mix between old tea and cheap whisky.

“What are you doing here?” asked America. “Didn’t you say that American football was dumb and childish? And what is that ugly thing you’re wearing?”

England took off his pink vest. “Ugh, bloody thing. I know what I said. I just came to check and see that you didn’t get into trouble with those two idiots.”

“You’re not my dad. You don’t have to go around taking care of me. Independence, remember? And Spain and Prussia have been much nicer company than you ever are. They don’t complain endlessly like old men.”

“Excuse me?!” cried England.

“They’re older than you but they don’t complain about the noise, or the beer. I think I’ll be inviting them instead of you from now on.”

England glared up at him. “Why you little…Look, I don’t care who you invite to your stupid games doesn’t matter. You can invite them to whatever you want, but right now you have to go back and tell them that they have to leave.”

“What?! Why?”

“Because they…,” started England, and bit his lower lip. “W-well because…There is an important reason, but I can’t tell you right now!”

“I see! You’re jealous!” said America, smirking.

“I’m not!”

America laughed. “Well too. I invited you and you refused. Tough luck, but maybe if you’re nice I’ll invite you to something else later,” he said.

“I’m not jealous! I don’t care who you invite, but it is very important that you leave. Now.”

“No! I’m having a good time, and I’m not going to leave just because you’re a jealous friendless loser!” said America, and walked away.


	11. Chapter 11

“England is here somewhere,” said Spain when Prussia came back to their seats. “Where were you? Were you crying?”

“Hah! Crying, as if!” laughed Prussia.

“I know you were. Your eyes are all red. What happened?”

“There were no more pretzels, and I tried to catch a pigeon but he flew off.”

Spain nodded and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Anyway, I saw England on the bathroom. I beat his ass, but he’s still around.”

Prussia made a vague noise of agreement.

“So we need to do something big. I’m sure he’s watching,” kept saying Spain.

America arrived. “I brought a pizza! Meat lovers, how’s that?” said America, opening a family sized pizza.

“I want pizza!” shouted Prussia, reaching for a slice.

Spain recognized the I-need-food-to-fill-the-dark-void-inside-myself tone in his voice, but decided to address it later. He grabbed a slice and a beer and tried to understand the game.

Players kicked the ball, ran, then stopped, then kicked the ball again. It all seemed really strange to Spain. America had explained it all to him, but he hadn’t really understood. To be honest, he didn’t much care, and would have been happy to just cheer whenever America cheered and boo whenever America booed.

Spain grabbed another slice of pizza and another beer. The players kicked the ball, ran then they piled on the running player.

“Dude! The patriots suck today! What is wrong with them?” yelled America.

Spain and Prussia made equal noises of vague disappointment and kept eating pizza. Spain looked around and caught sight of a head of disheveled blonde hair a few rows below them. He would recognize that head anywhere, and not just because he’d kept the same ugly ass haircut for ages.

“Oh my god! You guys are on the screens!” shouted Prussia, leaning away from them.

Spain blinked while America waved frantically at the camera. Spain’s smile turned into a smirk, and he threw his arms around America.

“Is this that camera where you have to kiss?” he whispered on his ear.

America froze, and felt his face heating. “T-the…kiss?” he mumbled.

Spain’s smirk turned predatory, and he placed a soft kiss on America’s cheek. “There’s your kiss. Aren’t you a cute kid?” he whispered, his breath tickling America’s ear.

“Stop!” shouted England, pulling Spain away from America so hard, he threw him two seats away on top of a couple teens.

The sky blackened, and so did the screens above the field. A sudden silence fell over the stadium for a second, and then lightning struck the screens once. Twice. Sparks rained over the field, but America could only see England jumping over people to get to Spain, who stood up and punched him in the face, throwing him to the row below over, a hot dogs vendor.

“No! No!” yelled America, but the people were already running in panic, and he could only watch as England regained his footing and kicked Spain on the stomach, sending him to the floor. He had never seen England fight with such ferocity. He tried to jump over the seats, but the flow of running people made it impossible for him to get any closer.

“England! Spain! Stop!” he shouted.

Neither of them listened.  Spain grabbed England and kneed him in the stomach. England fell to the floor, and America started pushing people away, ripping seats from their place trying to get closer, but he lost sight of them.


	12. Chapter 12

Italy ran up to the aisle where Romano stood watching the stadium empty as more lightning struck the playing field. He held the wand in his hand so hard, his knuckles turned white, and big tears fell from his eyes.

“Fratello! Are you doing all of this?!” he cried.

Romano turned to glare at him. “It’s not fair!” he yelled.

Thunder swirled in the sky, and a gust of wind nearly blew off Italy, but Germany held him.

“It’s not fair that I can’t be happy! I wanted him to love me! To love me as much as I love him!” shouted Romano. His eyes shone a strange golden color just like the wand in his hand.

“Romano please, listen to Italy!” yelled Germany, lifting an arm against the wind, and trying to shield Italy from the worst of it.

“You! You took him away from me! He adores you and I hate it!” shouted Romano, and pointed the wand at Germany, who gasped and fell unconscious to the floor.

Italy shrieked when the ground under Germany started falling apart. He jumped up and ran towards Romano, struggling with him for the wand.

“Don’t hurt him!” yelled Italy, trying to pull the wand from him. It burned wherever his skin touched it, and Romano was too strong. Far more than he should be.

Romano laughed. “How does it feel like? To feel like your happiness will be gone in an instant? Isn’t it horrible?!” he said, and kicked him away.

Italy fell to the floor, and crawled to protect Germany with his body.

“Why do you have to be the one that gets everything?” said Romano. “The better one! The one that everyone loves! The one that always gets to be happy!”

Romano pointed the wand at him, thunder lightning the skies. Italy stood extending his arms between Romano and Germany, trying to shield him from anything Romano might try.

Prussia ran towards them, tackling Romano to the ground. “Stop this!” yelled Prussia, but Romano grabbed him by the shirt and threw him away towards Germany and Italy.

Prussia jumped up to his feet and noticed the cracking floor. He pushed Italy away, pulled the unconscious Germany up and threw him towards Italy just in time for the floor to give away under him. He fell down, but a hand grabbed his jacket. He looked up to see Austria holding him, and laughed.

“You can’t-“ said Prussia, before Austria fell through the hole in the floor, still holding on to him. Mid fall, he held Austria to his chest, protecting him from the impact.

Romano laughed, then looked at Italy, who tried to pull Germany away.

“Romano?! What’s happening?!” shouted Spain, running towards them. He had a black eye and his shirt’s left sleeve had been ripped off.

The golden light in Romano’s eyes faded, and he blinked, looking around himself. His eyes filled with tears again, and a weight pressed in his chest.

“I…I didn’t mean…,” he stuttered, holding the wand to his chest.

Spain walked towards him. “Roma, did you do this?” he asked.

Romano shrieked, and vanished.


	13. Chapter 13

England ran around the aisles of the stadium, opening every door he could find. A wild storm had started, the lightning kept falling all around, and the winds and rain had ripped off all the cables and screens above the fields.

He opened the door to the bathrooms and found Romano cowering on the tiled floor in the corner.

“Romano,” he called, approaching him slowly.

Romano didn’t even look at him, and kept staring at the floor with bright golden eyes, still holding to the wand and crying in silence.

“Why don’t you give me that? It’s alright now, everything’s over. Just give me back the wand and everything will be alright. Spain is waiting for you. You want to see Spain, right? There’s a nice boy, give me the wand.”

Romano shook his head, and lifted his eyes to look at him. “I can’t let go of it. I-I have to stop crying. I will fix everything, and no one will be angry with me, and Spain will love me again... I can _make_ him love me. Only me,” he looked down at the wand. “It tells me I can. It tells me it can make everything better. I can be better than Feliciano. It can get rid of him and then even grandpa will love me!”

England pulled him up and slapped him across the face. “Wake up! Listen to yourself. This is not what you want! This is your pain speaking!”

Romano tried to push him away, but England was also touching the wand, and it’s power flowed between them both, reducing his strength. England pushed him against the wall and lifted a fist to try and knock him out.

Spain kicked the door open and saw England about to hit Romano

“Don’t touch him!” yelled Spain, and pulled England away from Romano.

England tried to push him away but Spain had him by his shirt. America ran into the bathroom and rushed to pull them apart.

“Stop! Fucking stop already!” he said, pushing them away from each other.

Spain tripped, fell, and hit his head against the edge of the washbasin, falling unconscious to the floor. Romano screamed, let go of the wand and ran to Spain’s side.

England ran past America to get the wand. It dissolved in his hands, and the storm outside faded, the skies cleared and the wind died down.

“Spain! Spain! Wake up!” cried Romano, shaking him.

America pulled Spain up. “I’ll bring him to a hospital,” said America. “Romano stay here.”

“No! I want to be with him!” said Romano, clinging to Spain’s limp arm.

England placed his hands on Romano’s shoulders. “He’s fine, he’s just unconscious.”

“But this is my fault. What if he’s badly hurt? I didn’t mean to do this! I wanted to stop but I couldn’t!” said Romano, sobbing.

England pulled him against his chest, and rubbed soothing circles on his back. “There, there. It’s alright. He’s much stronger than you think. Something like this won’t hurt him. It was all just an accident,” he said, but Romano wouldn’t stop crying.

England stayed with him, rocking him while they waited for the ambulances to arrive and didn’t say anything when Romano fell asleep against him, but only placed a soft kiss on his forehead.


	14. Chapter 14

Italy brought a bouquet of flowers to Romano’s hospital room, and arranged them in a small vase by the window.

“I’m sorry,” said Romano, looking at the way the morning light fell over the petals of the flowers.

“Don’t be,” said Italy with a soft smile. “It was England’s wand talking.”

“No. It was me talking. It was my anger and my jealousy. I’m sorry. I wish…I didn’t feel like this. I wish I could…be a better brother.”

Italy smiled down at him and caressed him face. He had bandaged his palms to cover the burned parts of them that had touched the wand.

“I like the brother you are.”


	15. Chapter 15

Austria was unharmed, but Prussia had a couple broken ribs and a fracture in his leg from the fall. They weren’t life threatening (with them, very little actually was life threatening), but required that he stay at the hospital for a couple weeks.

Germany didn’t waste any time to show up and yell at him and Spain, who shared the hospital room with him.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves! Using America to get back at England. Who would ever think of doing something so mean?”

Spain lifted an eyebrow. “Uh…France?” he said, and Germany glared at him.

Prussia tried not to snicker, but failed and Germany glared at him too.

“And you,” said Germany, pointing at Prussia. “You should have just taken Italy away. I’m much stronger and would have taken the fall with less damage than you. What were you thinking?!”

“Kesesese! I was thinking of you, of course,” said Prussia, sticking his tongue at Germany. “Don’t pretend to think like a big brother, you silly!”

Spain got up from the bed, and Germany tried to stop him. “Don’t move. You need to rest Spain.”

Spain waved him away. “I’m fine. I just hit my head a bit. I want to see Romano. I’ll be back in a moment, don’t worry,” he said and walked out of the room past Austria’s piano.

“Would you give us a moment Germany?” asked Austria. “I will now express my disappointment in your brother through the piano.”

Germany sighed deeply and left them alone.


	16. Chapter 16

Spain knocked on the door before entering.

“What is it now?” came an annoyed voice from inside, and Spain smiled.

He entered, and Romano startled at seeing him.

“Don’t look at me. I can’t stand it,” he said, hiding his face behind his hands.

“I’m sorry for what I did Romano,” said Spain, sitting next to his bed.

“Sorry? I blew up a fucking stadium because I was jealous!” cried Romano, still unwilling to look at Spain.

“Yeah,” said Spain with a little smile. “And I should have thought of you. I should have realized that what I was doing would hurt you and America both along with England. But I was too selfish and didn’t stop to consider your feelings.”

Spain reached to hold Romano’s hand, but Romano flinched away from him.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said, turning his head away. “I think we should…Stop seeing each other.”

“Stop seeing…What do you mean?” asked Spain, unwilling to accept what he had heard.

“You know what I mean Spain. It would…be the best for both of us…,” said Romano, almost in a whisper. He lifted the palm of his right hand to his face and looked at the thin white line that the wand had left in it.

The things that the wand had whispered to him scared him. Because at that moment he had wanted them so much. He had honestly thought that true happiness would be in chaining Spain to be only with him. To force him to love only him and think only of him. He had come face to face with the possessive monster that he could become, and it scared him too much. No, Spain deserved someone better. Someone who could love him without falling into this unhealthy obsession.

“No, Roma. Please forgive me,” said Spain, clasping his hand between his own. “I beg you, please forgive me. I swear, it was all just a stupid joke. I will never do anything like this again. I can’t stand to be away from you. I love you. I love you. I love you.” Spain’s eyes filled with tears.

Romano felt a knot on his throat. “Spain…”

“Please, give me another chance! I beg you Roma. I’ll do anything. You don’t want me to drink? I won’t. You want me to cook? I will. Every single meal, and two of them will be pasta, and we can take all the siestas you want! But please give me another chance!”

“Why? I don’t understand how you can always love me so much,” said Romano, rubbing at his teary eyes. “You keep on loving me, despite how awful I am…”

Spain reached to hug him. “Roma I love you. I have always loved you. I love the person you are now, and the person you can become. All I want is to love you for the rest of our existence.”

Romano hugged him back and found that right there, in Spain’s arms, he was happy. Truly happy. Because every day, Spain gave him something not even magic could give him. Love. Absolute, all encompassing love, out of his own choosing and free will.

The door flew open, and in came Grandpa Rome taking long strides.

“You! You are the one who has been making my precious grandson cry!” he shouted, pulling Spain away from Romano and shaking him. “How dare you make him sad?! I will tell God to send you to hell! I will bring you there myself! No one hurts my beautiful baby!”

“No! Grandpa stop!” cried Romano and jumped out of the bed.

Rome let go of Spain who fell down on the chair next to Romano’s bed.

“Ah~ Rome, you’re back on earth~,” said Spain, still dizzy.

“You two know each other?” asked Romano.

“Of course we do,” said Rome. “Hispania used to be like my granary. Good worker and good fields, but not very smart.”

Romano looked over to Spain, who tried his best at becoming invisible.

Before Romano could say anything Rome picked him up and kissed his cheek. “My darling, are you alright? Little Italy said you had an accident. Let’s go home and I’ll make you a nice dinner with fish!”

“Y-you came here all the way from heaven?” asked Romano.

“Oh course I did! Anything for my precious grandson. Not even God can stop a loving parent!”

Romano hid his face in Rome’s neck so he and Spain wouldn’t see him cry of happiness.


	17. Chapter 17

America knocked on England’s door.

“What do you want?” asked England, opening the door only enough to glare at him.

America shoved a bill in front of him. “This is the bill for the repairs of the stadium your dumbass wand ruined.”

“What? I’m not paying for that! Go away!” said England and tried to close the door.

“Let me in before I take this bill to the queen,” said America.

England opened the door and took the bill. “Damn you. Don’t tell her anything about this,” he said, letting America inside.

America strolled by, carrying a box of pizza and a big soda. England looked down at the bill in his hand. It said _One Large Pepperoni Pizza._

“What?” he mumbled, closing the door.

“I should charge you,” said America, sitting down on England’s couch. “Better yet, I should demand that the UN takes that wand away from you. It’s too dangerous.”

England sat down next to him, but didn’t say anything. America passed him a slice of pizza.

“So what? That thing drives you crazy when you use it?” America asked when he saw that England wasn’t going to say anything on his own.

England took a small bite from his pizza before speaking. “Not really. It merely amplifies your emotions. Like power itself. It allows you to do whatever you want, and magnifies your emotions accordingly. In Romano’s case it was jealousy and anger.”

“And in your case it’s being fuck all crazy then?” asked America.

“It’s not! I’ve had it for hundreds of years, so I can control it perfectly!”

America stared at him. “Mhm. Yeah, whatever. You can’t control yourself at the best of times.”

“I can!” yelled England.

“You can’t. You’re no better than him. That’s why you use it so little right? I thought that was because it was so useless, but it’s the opposite. It’s so powerful that you only use it rarely,” said America, and took another slice of pizza.

England left his own slice on the table. “I’ll bring some plates. You’re going to ruin my table,” he said and got up but America grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down on the couch.

“Don’t. We need to talk,” he said, leaving his pizza on the table.

“Look, I’m sorry about it. I should have stopped him, but I didn’t think it would get out of hand so badly,” said England, trying to pull his arm away but America wouldn’t let him go.

“Well you should have. You called Spain to yell at him for accepting my invitation, then stalked us all day, and _then_ picked a fight with him because you couldn’t stand for him to get close to me. Even though you knew damn well that he was doing it just to make you angry.”

England swallowed. “I…I didn’t-“

“You’re crazy in love with me.”

“I’m not!” cried England, blushing.

America held both his wrists. “You’re so dumb and cute.”

“Don’t make fun of me!”

“Why didn’t you tell me about how Spain and Prussia were just trying to make you angry?”

England scoffed. “It was a personal matter. No need to ruin your day by telling you the truth. You wouldn’t have believed me anyway.”

“And why didn’t you tell me about Romano taking your wand?”

“I couldn’t expose him like that,” said England, his anger fading away. “He was already an emotional wreck. I thought that if I could calm him down without anyone realizing it was him, it would have made everything easier for him. The wand is very difficult to handle, so I felt responsible for him. I understood how he felt…”

America pushed him down to pin him against the couch. England gasped, and a blush spread over his cheeks. America leaned down to kiss the tip of his nose.

“You keep calling me a kid,” he said. “But the only one being childish here is you.”

England opened his mouth to say something, but America put a finger to his lips.

“No. Enough of your lies and denials. I’m gonna kiss the hell out of you now.”

“Eeh?!” said England, unable to form words.

“Consider it payment for my ruined stadium if you want to keep lying to yourself. But I can’t pretend like I don’t want to do this anymore.”

England stiffened, but didn’t move when America’s lips touched his own. After a moment he closed his eyes, and let himself receive what he had wanted for so long.


End file.
